


Chai

by HeadphonesOn



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cutter is his own warning, Episode 56: Idle Hands, M/M, Mind Control, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Panic, Threats, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, chai latte
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 16:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18014324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadphonesOn/pseuds/HeadphonesOn
Summary: Set during Idle Hands when Cutter offers Lovelace a chai latte. Cutter has some threats in mind to keep Lovelace cooperating.(If Eiffel's mind control had not broken when it did in the episode.)





	Chai

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot be the only one who thinks constantly of the chai latte scene. And I really can't be the only one who gets very creepy vibes off of Cutter when he interacts with Eiffel. This was born from that.
> 
> I put it in the tags, but one last warning, this does contain sexual assault and threats of it. Mind the tags. Be careful, y'all.

“How about a chai latte? Do you want a chai latte?”

Cutter had not stopped talking since he'd sent Eiffel to get the damn latte. Lovelace was barely even paying attention to him anymore. He wasn't saying anything new; more condescending threats and the cloying clinks of Chinese checkers. Lovelace was losing.

“Hm...not such a lucky day?” Cutter smiled. Lovelace didn't even dignify him with a spoken response- just lowered her eyelids. She forced herself to keep stoic and defiant. Lovelace knew how to deal with men like Cutter, men with too much power and full of disregard; she knew that she had to let their power feel useless. But it was not easy. Everyone had sussed out that Cutter's main tactic- other than controlling all of Goddard -was being unsettling. The way he spoke down to you, the way he always stood a little too close, the way he immediately went to first name or even nickname basis- it was perfectly designed to make you uncomfortable. It may not seem to powerful, but an unsettled person is a person less sure, more likely to screw up. Cutter played the game well.

“Seems I won again,” Cutter gestured to the board, where his white pegs stood in a victory triangle. Lovelace gave them a quick glance.

“Guess so,” she replied, “Do you want to me pretend to care?”

“Not particularly,” Cutter said, carefully placing all the pins back in their respective homes. He slid the board back into its box and faced Lovelace. “But it might be better for you, Isabel. Don’t want me getting bored, now do you?”

Cutter’s hand was suddenly on Lovelace’s thigh. Just briefly, and so incredibly lightly that she may thought to have imagined it if she hadn’t seen him move. Just a simple motive- prove she had no power here. She held back a shudder.

“But I suppose you’re not afraid of being hurt. Someone who’s been through as much as you, Isabel...your own pain must be background noise.”

Before Lovelace could respond, the door opened to Eiffel. He held a closed-lid cup in each hand, the scent of spices following him. His hands were raw and red where the steaming cups touched him. He was smiling.

“Perfect timing, Doug!” Cutter rose from his chair and went to greet the puppeted Eiffel. Lovelace tried to meet eyes with her crewmate. He did not avert her gaze, but his eyes were completely lifeless. Lovelace regretted looking.

“Oh, you brought me a cup too?” Doug smiled blankly and handed Cutter both cups. Cutter flinched when he grabbed them and quickly set them down. He is only human, Lovelace thought, he can burn like the rest of us.

Cutter considered the cup in his hand, popping open the lid and looking inside. Steam and the scent of spices wafted out and towards Lovelace. Cutter took a small sip of the drink.

“I wonder how you learned how to make these,” he mused, hand reaching to ruffle Eiffel's hair. “It's very good! I may have made a mistake making you a communications officer. You'd make a very good barista. Not to mention, you were a pretty terrible communications officer.”

“He would've been better without all the crap you pulled on his mission,” Lovelace was not willing to sit by. Only the crew of the Hephaestus was allowed to insult their idiot officer. 

“He barely pulled through even before the complications, Isabel! Though I suppose you wouldn't know,” Cutter smiled at her, “Since you were a little busy being dead.”

Lovelace froze. The strike of panic, the flashing thought of you are not real, ran through her. Swallowing it down, she looked Cutter right in the eyes. “And who's fault is that, exactly?”

“I'm sorry to inform you that I truly do not care.” Cutter took another sip of the latte before setting it down and taking the other from Eiffel's scorched hand. He meandered over to Lovelace like he didn't have a care in the world. She turned away as quick as she could, but Cutter's hand wrapped around her jaw and held her still. It's a power play, don't flinch, don't let him know you're scared- and the cup was pressed to her lips and the smell of chai was everywhere. She couldn't believe she used to find it comforting. Hot tea burnt her lips and Cutter pried open her mouth, letting the tea fill her mouth. She could barely taste it from the heat. Forcing herself to remain still, she pretended to swallow. Cutter slowly pulled the cup away from her mouth, grinning wide enough to seem impossible. He looked satisfied with his move.

Lovelace spat the chai right back at him. It hit him square in the face. For the first time in their meeting, Cutter looked shocked. He stumbled, milky white tea dripping from his face, separating strands of his hair and gluing them to his face in uneven lines. Surprise. Cutter’s hand swung back fast, his eyes menacing and rageful, but he stopped just as Lovelace prepared herself for the hit. He let out a slow sigh, shaking his head. Mumbled under his breath.

“Your own pain is background noise,” she managed to pick out. That was a terrible sign. She spotted Eiffel near the door, standing completely unfazed. Cutter’s eyes followed hers. At that moment, Lovelace wished she was like him, mindless, calmed- her own nerves were exploding inside her. Of course he’s not going to take it out on me. 

“Dougie boy, are you in there?” Eiffel raised his head towards the two. He was smiling. Cutter waved him over, his own smile holding much more meaning than Eiffel’s and none of it good. Eiffel walked over with his hands clasped neatly at his front. Lovelace wanted to shout at him, get him to run away, to just make it out the door. Once Eiffel was a foot away from Cutter, he stopped and stood with a military stiffness.

“I need you to do a little favor for me,” Cutter addressed Eiffel, his arm slipping around Eiffel’s shoulders and hand creeping into his hair. Lovelace looked Cutter over for any sign of a weapon. Nothing in his pockets, unless it was very thin. His other hand, the one not wrapped around her communication officer, was tipping back Eiffel’s head, exposing his neck. Lovelace could see the light tracing of veins beneath the skin, could imagine them pumping the blood keeping him alive. Could see the fragility there, and Cutter’s eyes like knives on his throat. But Cutter did not seem to have a weapon. Then what-

Cutter pulled Eiffel into him and drove his head into the crook of Eiffel’s neck. Lovelace’s shout died in her throat. She forced it down, finally giving in to the shaking. In place of her scream, she hear something else. Eiffel’s breath hitching and changing into a sigh. His eyes closed. He was smiling. Lovelace shut her eyes, feeling disgustingly helpless, but that didn’t stop the sounds. Eiffel’s soft moans, Cutter’s muffled assault. The movement of bodies. And more background noise: the whir of engines and machines keeping the Sol in orbit and enclosing this moment, where Cutter had moved, dragging his tongue up Eiffel’s neck, leaving the dark hickey and tracing his jugular; Eiffel’s eyes were open now and blank as Cutter slid his tongue across the communication officer’s lips and parted them. Lovelace couldn’t close her eyes again, scared, scared, that if she did something even worse would happen.

The room looked darker when Cutter pulled away, even with the lights being the same level they’d been at since Lovelace had first been dragged into the room. Eiffel looked so pleased with himself; so did Cutter, but that wasn’t the worst. Eiffel looked so pleased that he’d done right. That he’d been good. He was smiling. Lovelace wanted to scream at him, the words ripping at her throat and lungs. You’re brainwashed! You’re fucking brainwashed and he just assaulted you! Stop smiling at him! Stop smiling like that! She was shaking now, in anger, in fear, in whatever.

“Thank you, Doug. I’ve wanted to do that for a while.” Cutter smiled too wide. Lovelace remembered hearing the horribly condescending way Cutter spoke to the crew, and the other level of creepy when he spoke to Eiffel. The nicknames fit painfully with the bite on Eiffel’s neck. Cutter leaned in closer to Lovelace.

“Miranda told me you wouldn’t cooperate, Isabel,” Cutter’s voice was sharp and full of artificial honey, “And I told her she was wrong. That I think you can cooperate with us with the right...incentives. So?”

 

Lovelace couldn’t stop fucking shaking. Eiffel stood with military straightness.

“Do I have you tempted to follow along?”

Lovelace tried to answer, but she didn’t know what to say. Half of her wanted her to spit in Cutter’s face. The other was trained on Eiffel and getting him out unscathed. She couldn’t let her crew down. Either way, she would.

After a full minute of silence, Cutter tisked sharply and outstretched a hand to snatch one of the chai lattes from the table and pull it to his slightly swollen lips. Lovelace didn’t meet his eyes when he looked at her.

“Don’t worry, Isabel. I know it’s all very sudden. I’m going to check in with Miranda and when I get back, I’m hoping, for Doug’s sake more than anyone’s, that you’ve made a choice.”

With that, Cutter handed the cup to Eiffel and gave a small wave before turning and leaving. When the door clicked shut, Lovelace let out a sound between a scream and a sigh. She tried to control her breathing, but the air felt too thin and the room too small. She felt defeated. It had been years since she’d lost her voice in a situation, when she’d been unable to respond, unable to retort. If I’m at my limit already, the Hephaestus is fucked. My crew is fucked. My friends are completely, utterly-

Lovelace jerked violently when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Forcing her face to compose itself, she turned to see-

“Hey, Cap. Guess we have some escapes to plan.”

Eiffel, standing with his shoulders drooped, head tilted, his natural posture. Eyes on fire. He was not smiling.


End file.
